It Does Not Do to Dwell on Dreams
by truthandfireworks
Summary: Set in GOF: Fred is dragged out to the Room of Requirement in the middle of the night by Barty, only to overhear him talking to someone else. Who is he speaking with and why is he being so secretive?


"_Meet me in the Room of Requirement at eleven."  
"Barty, I'm so tired already. I need to sleep."  
"Please, Fredrick? It would mean a lot to me."  
"Well, I suppose I've got the rest of my life to fix my sleep schedule."  
"Exactly. A long, long time."  
"And maybe then you'll sleep too?"  
"Only if you meet me tonight."  
"It's a date."_

He shuffled his feet as he made his way to the Room of Requirement. There really couldn't've been anything that important that Barty would have dragged him out two nights in a row. Well, two nights in a row was nothing, really. But Barty seemed to be distant lately. Fred, having troubles of his own, chalked it up to Death Eater business. He figured Barty must've been getting better at hiding his bruises and cuts or that recently, he had just been so tired that he hadn't noticed. No, he shook his head, trying to rid himself of the cloud of drowsiness; he would have noticed bruises or cuts.

Then again, Barty had not seemed distant in a bad way. Perhaps it was a good feeling. Maybe he was working out a plan to leave the Death Eaters.

_"Fredrick, if it came down to being with you or staying with them, oh," he kissed him softly, "there would be no hesitation." He looked down at their hands, shaking slightly and white-knuckled from clinging to one another. And as quietly as a sleeping breath, he added, "They'd kill me if I left them. But it would kill me to leave you."_

He stepped into the room, his heart feeling a faint echo of the twinge the memory brought. Fred carefully climbed over tiny piles of discarded books, trying to balance himself. A sharp gasp passed his lips when he smacked his hand off what looked like a cabinet. Shooting it a dirty look, Fred pressed forward, in desperate search of why Barty had been so persistent on Fred being there that evening.

"Yes, I know he'll show up. He promised me."

Fred stopped at the sound of Barty speaking to someone else. He tried all he could to hear who he might have been talking to. Was it another Death Eater? Was Barty trying to recruit him? Was that the simplest way of doing things? Or perhaps this had all been a set up. Funny, not funny-comical, but funny-heartbreaking, how quickly Fred could doubt Barty.

"I know you're worried about us, but I can assure you, everything's going to work out. I have no doubt in my mind."

Work out for what? Or for whom? Half-paralyzed with fear, half-too curious to move, Fred made a mental note to finish up the final product for the Extendable Ear – a Sleuthy Student's Salvation! Focus, he thought, this is actually rather important.

"N-No. It's nothing like that. I promise. I know he's young and I know I'm, well. I know I'm a mess. But he. I just." He sighed. "When I come back here, to this school, when I come back here under a false identity and I'm beaten and tired and I look like I've been through the most horrible things that I've inflicted on people. I call it home. It's my home, because he'll be there, waiting for me. And he doesn't hate me for what I did. I hate me for what I did. But he doesn't. He still loves me. He's." He laughed quietly. "He's my Fredrick."

"Barty?"

He heard Barty get up abruptly and make his way over. "Fredrick," he greeted him with a bright smile. "Fredrick, I have something wonderful to show you."

"Who were you-"  
"Come here, quickly! You can meet her yourself."  
"Her?"

Fred stepped where Barty's feet had lifted, gripping his hand tight. He was dragged over old cauldrons and around a box of dusty, dark crystal balls. When his feet finally stood still, he lifted his head and found himself in front of a mirror with a gold frame, strange script across the top of it. Fred's eyes hurt looking at the writing, his tired lids already closing.

"Fredrick, look into the mirror. Who do you see?"  
"I just see us."

Barty let go of their hands and pushed Fred in front of the mirror. "Now who do you see?"  
"I'm telling you, I can just see us!"

"Fredrick, honestly-"  
"Well, who do you see then? Because I don't think this thing works for me."

"I think it's a mirror that lets you talk to your loved ones that are," Barty's voice trailed off. "Maybe you can't see anyone, because no one you know has died."

"Maybe, but then," he tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, "who do you see?" He stepped out of Barty's way and watched him stand in front of the mirror, a smile spreading across his lips.

"I can see my mother."  
"Oh, and how's she doing then?"  
"She looks just like she did when I was a boy. She was so pretty, Fredrick. I used to crawl up on to her vanity and try to help her get ready. And right before her and my father would go out, she would put on extra lipstick and kiss my cheek. And she would tell me that the kiss on my cheek would last until bedtime. And that if it didn't, she would just have to come home to give me another. That's the last happy memory I have. That's the last memory I have that makes me happy that doesn't involve you."  
"Barty?"

The Death Eater looked over, his cheeks stained with tears. "Fredrick, I wish you could see her."

He walked over, wrapping his arms around the thin frame of a human being that he had grown to love. "I want that more than anything. She sounds wonderful."

He felt Barty's fingers pull and latch on to the back of his shirt, his face buried in Fred's shoulder. For the first time in his life, Fred realized how truly lucky he was. He had brothers and sisters and parents that may have been overbearing, but they never hurt him. His father didn't hate anyone, his mother only seemed frightening. He had friends, he had memories. Some of the happiest memories anyone could possibly have. It hadn't crossed his mind that if he and Barty were to write out all the happy memories they could, Fred would have millions. Memories of tree forts and brooms and explosions and everyone being together. Memories of Egypt and picking on Percy as a family. Memories of the first time he saw Hogwarts. Memories of playing Quidditch, of skipping classes to go do absolutely nothing.

Barty couldn't remember anything anymore. That's what Azkaban did. Every shred of happiness that you had going in was sucked out of you. Of course, Barty remembered his first time at Hogwarts and times with his mother and back when his family was a family. But remembering, Fred thought, wasn't the same as remembering and feeling. The feeling of seeing a castle lit up while on the lake. The feeling of flying for the first time. The feeling of a kiss to the cheek that's supposed to last till bed time.

He pressed his lips to Barty's cheek and whispered a soft, "I love you."

Barty pulled back, breathing deeply. "Are you sure you can't see her?"

Fred stepped in front of the mirror one last time. "I'm sorry," he shrugged, pointing to the glass. "All I see is us."

"That's okay," Barty nodded, wiping at his face. "You best get to bed."  
"Yeah."  
"Fredrick?"  
"Yes?"  
"Why is it that when you stand in front of it, you see us, alive and well. But when I stand there, I see my mother?"  
"I don't know."  
"Right. Of course."

There was nothing left to do. With just a step, Fred pulled Barty against him, pressing his lips firmly against Barty's. His fingers snuck their way into his hair, pulling lightly, trying to force out the sadness in the Death Eater's tone. He felt Barty kiss back, just as violently, grabbing his hips and digging his nails into his skin. If that's what Barty needed, then who was he to stop him? Nails into his hips were nothing compared to the Cruciatus he had suffered only months ago. He often wondered if some tiny part of him knew that Barty was just lost and hurt and that's why he hurt him. He thought about how easy it was to forgive the man who had stolen his youth and made him love with the strength of millennia. Sometimes things got off to a bumpy start, he figured, and from that point on, everything was going to be alright.

Little did Fred know, the poor boy, that he was only going to be torn from Barty's soul in a week's time. Becoming a memory, like Barty's first time on a broom or a kiss on the cheek.


End file.
